Musings of An Objective Observer
by Singing Daisy
Summary: What Lizzie, Elliot's daughter, thinks about when she visits the precinct after school. One-shot, but I might do a sequel.


When I was younger, I used to sit on John's lap at the station house and watch the dectives work. As I grew older, I sat on Fin's desk to watch them, but it had the same effect. I enjoyed watching them play off each other. For the first few days that I sat with them, they were very aware of my prescense, sending me away when something became too graphic, but after a few months, they opened up to their silent watcher. John even referred to me as "Little Objective Observer," a nickname which I believe fit me very well.  
  
My father, Elliot Stabler, at first insisted that I remain upstairs if I was going to hang out at the precinct after school. One day, I got so tired of being booted out of the Squad Room that I stomped in and sat stubbornly on a very surprised John's lap. Thankfully, he thought I was funny and allowed me to stay there if it was all right with my father. And, as none of Dad's usual threats of grounding and extra chores scared me away, I stayed. I was eleven then.  
  
When I turned thirteen, I found myself planted on the edge of Fin's desk, watching them again. My gaze was first on my father, who was staring at an open file folder. The one thing he would never allow me to do was read those files, even over their shoulders, and I can tell from the disgusted look on his face why. They were gruesome, horrible, _scary_ even, and I was not one who was normally frightened. Part of me was curious as to the details, and the other part never wanted to find out what it was that he protected me from daily.  
  
My father's partner, Olivia Benson, sat across from him, chewing nervously on the end of a pencil. I had noticed this habit of hers almost as soon as I met her, and recently it had turned into a habit of my own. During homework or especially hard tests, my pencil was forever between my teeth. My brother would always say he was going to report me for "Abuse of a Writing Utensil." Dickie was like that.  
  
Olivia was beautiful, to say the least. I would often find myself staring at her gorgeously porportioned face, wishing I could draw, just so I could capture it on paper. I had known for a long time that my mother was jealous of Olivia, and I assumed for a while that it was because she was beautiful. I soon learned better.  
  
My mother thought my father was in love with his partner, but I knew he wasn't. I'd seen Dad around Mom, and compared to that, Dad and Olivia were like... well, like Dickie and me. They joked around with each other, comforted each other and even shared food, but so did Dickie and I. Dad cared for Olivia, of course, but love? I think not.  
  
Captain Cragen's head swung out from his office. "Stabler, Benson, a word?" he called. Dad and Olivia exchanged worried looks as they stood up, but I knew they weren't in trouble. Cragen used an angry, annoyed sort of voice when he was going to yell at them. Now his voice was sad... disappointed. That meant they probably had a new case. My gaze followed them into his office. As soon as the door was closed, John looked up from his current file and gave me a wry smile.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked me, one of his favorite ways of addressing me. I smiled at him and started to answer, but Fin interjected.  
  
"Don't interrupt her, Munch," he chastised. "I bet she's doin' somethin' important."  
  
"Solving world hunger perhaps?" John suggested, causing me to giggle. He and Fin were two of the few people that could make me giggle anymore. I _laughed_ a lot, but never giggled.  
  
"Hardly," I disagreed, still laughing.  
  
"What _are_ you thinking then, Liz?" Fin asked, leaning forward with interest.  
  
"About Dad and Liv," I told him immediately. "That Olivia is very beautiful, and that my Dad's brow creases when he reads reports. Like he's concentrating, but different. Like he's trying to make sense of the chaos in the world by boring a hole threw the paper with his eyes."  
  
I hadn't actually thought that. It sort of came to me as I was speaking, as did most of my revelations. John smiled at me and sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Ah, the musings of youth," he said. "Sometimes there is truth in it, isn't there, Fin?"  
  
"Who knows?" Fin said, shrugging. "I just wonder if she thinks too much."  
  
I laughed. "Maybe you just don't think enough."  
  
"She's got you there, Tutuola," John agreed, looking at him pointedly over the rim of his glasses, a look I had deemed as a young child "The Munch Look." Fin just rolled his eyes and went back to his file, as did John.  
  
Fin's eyes worried me as he read and copied things down. (Or whatever it is police officers do when filing reports. Since my father never let me read any, I had no idea what they were doing.) They seemed tense and worried. It was probably a child case, one that reminded him of his son. I didn't know much about Fin's son, just that he had one. Dad had enlightened me with this little bit of information, and ever since then I had wondered about this boy, and worried about Fin. To me, he would make a wonderful father.  
  
I also imagined him as a child. He always had a big family in my imaginings, like me. And he was probably the one who needed an escape, but hadn't found it yet. I had, though, found my escape. It was him. Them. Here. Watching. Wondering.  
  
"John, what did you say I did?" I asked him. I remembered that it had been the perfect way of describing it, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember the wording.  
  
"Hmmm?" was his response, and Fin grinned at me.  
  
"Proof that he doesn't listen to himself when he speaks," Fin said, and John rolled his eyes, a usual form of interaction between the two of them.  
  
"I just didn't hear her, moron," he explained. "Now, what was the question, Oh Observant One?"  
  
"Well, when I told you what I was thinking, you called my thoughts something," I said, laughing. "What was it?"  
  
"Oh, that," he said, leaning back in his chair again. "The musings of youth." He threw the Munch Look at Fin, as if to say, _Haha, I do remember. Feel my I'm-smarter-than-you wrath._  
  
I grinned at their child-like antics. "That was it. Thank you."  
  
I often asked John for words when I was thinking. Although my observation skills were developed, unfortunately my vocabulary needed a little fine tuning. Thankfully, I had a veritable human dictionary sitting in the desk next to where I perched myself, and he had come in useful very often.  
  
John was a sad man, unless he was prooving himself right, or someone else wrong. It was as if he had to proove that he was worthy of being alive, because he never believed it himself. As a little girl, I had sensed this, and that's why I sat on _his_ lap when I went to the precinct. I had known he was lonely and sad, and I think the affection of a child cheered him up. Opened him up to the world, just a tiniest bit, as though having a child around was evidence that the universe was not the horrible place that his life had obviously led him to believe. He still remained my favorite detective to be around.  
  
No, that's not true. He was my favorite to be around when I needed to feel useful. He always managed to make me feel smart and needed. He loved hearing my musings, and loved being able to tell me things. I was the only one who would listen to him, and that made me feel like I wasn't just a burden, hanging around the station house because my Daddy worked there. The other detectives were my favorites in different situations.  
  
My father was my father, so I loved him. He was my favorite when I needed protection, a safety net, and although I knew the other detectives would take care of me if need be, my father was always the first one to wrap his arms around me when I needed a rock, something solid to hold my tears and pain. I could bury my fac in his chest for hours, smell his shirt and hear his heart beat, because he was my father. His arms were strong, literally and figuratively, and he was ready to hold me tight whenever I needed it.  
  
As for Olivia, she had her own advantages. For one, she was the only woman, so obviously if I had boy troubles, she was my choice to go to, but she was more than a confidant about boys. She was my advisor. She was the one that I knew I could call in the middle of the night and she wouldn't be annoyed. She would just sit and listen to whatever teenage dribble flowed from my mouth, and give the most sound advice she knew how. Also, she was the one who understood where my pain was coming from, because she had lived it. She knew what pain meant, and though the others did, too, she was the only one who was willing to show that emotion to me openly.  
  
And Fin, well... Fin was like a second father, or maybe a big brother. He used to tell me that if anybody bugged me, he'd beat them up. It always made me laugh, but part of me wondered if he was really kidding. He was also gentle, in his own way. Once, I felt sick after school and slept on the couch they have upstairs. I woke up to see Fin sitting next to me, brushing the hair from my forehead, as if I was his own child. The look in his eye made me wonder if he wished that it was his son he was comforting. It's a shame that he can't. As I thought before, he'd make a wonderful father.  
  
As Dad and Olivia returned from Captain Cragen's office, I could tell by the disgruntled look on his face that Dad and Liv were going to a scene, probably a particularly gruesome one.  
  
"Taking me home, Dad?" I asked, hopping off Fin's desk. John and Fin looked up.  
  
"Yeah, then I'm going to a scene," he said, just as I had guessed. "Tell your mother I'm sorry I'm missing dinner."  
  
My mind flitted back to what I had been thinking earlier, about Dad and Olivia not being in love. As I slowly reached for my jacket which was hanging on the back of my dad's chair, I shook my head. "You should tell her your sorry. She doesn't believe me."  
  
"What do you mean?" Dad asked, looking at me quizzically, as if studying me like I was one of his victims.  
  
"I mean," I began, "that she won't believe me if I tell her you're sorry. I always tell her you're sorry. She wants to hear it from you, not her thirteen year old daughter."  
  
"Nonsense," Olivia said. "You're smarter than he is anyways."  
  
I smiled, and Olivia ruffled my hair. She was the only person I would still let do that. My dad rolled his eyes.  
  
"Thanks, Liv, good to know you're behind me," he joked, and we headed out. Before we could leave, John grabbed my father's arm and held him back.  
  
"You go on ahead," John told Olivia and I. Olivia looked at me, and I shrugged. What I wouldn't give to hear what was being said.  
  
We made our way out to the car. As I slid into the back seat, and Olivia into the driver's seat, I noticed her look to the precinct in confusion. She wanted to know what was going on, too. As soon as my father entered the car, I asked him, "What did John say to you, Daddy?"  
  
I expected him to dismiss my question, say I was too young to understand, or try to explain it to me in little, tiny words, like an infant, but instead, he turned around and looked at me squarely.  
  
"He said to listen to you. That you were smarter than you looked."  
  
It took a second for the words to sink in, but when they did, all I could do was smile. As we pulled out of the parking space, I saw John standing outside the Squad Room on the stairs. I grinned at him and mouthed, "Thank you."  
  
He didn't respond, but his face said _You're welcome_. 


End file.
